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Outpost 716, or Farscape as it was affectionaly known, was on the very edge of known space. It had always been a simple, quiet listening post, reporting to the Syndicate regularly. Despite it's rather unsavory management (a load of gangsters headed by FBI, ironic eh?), it was militarily and financially stable, with a community resigned to the facts. Quiet as space itself.
Then the Empire attacked.
Now, the small outpost was on the front line, and would undoubtably soon catch the attention of the hungry Empire. Barely a day after the Skylords began total war, the relief fleet finally dropped out of I-Flight. It wasn't much of a fleet, more of a convoy to be honest. Over 80% of the convoy were transports and carriers, with escorting battleships and spearheading the convoy, the Saviour.

"Comm them."
The young communications officer checked over his readings with the mechanic efficiency typical of cadets.
"No response sir. No comm activity either, on any spectrum except for us."
The Captain frowned, and tapped his convoy-wide comm.
"Be on your toes people. Get your defences up."
Affirmatives whistled in.
"Commander, any power sources? Engine exhaust?"
"Not as far as I can see sir. No outgoing vessels for at least 24 hours."
The frown deepened.
"Get a search and rescue team assembled, and load them into a special ops lander. Get a squadron to cover them.
"Captain, this doesn't feel right."
"I know Chaos. Fern, get some waste and load it into a missile. Launch it without any warheads at the base."
"Missile away," the old veteran responded.
The screen magnified to follow the tiny missile, as it made it's slow progress to the base and detonated harmlessly on its shield.
"Sir! S&R team ready."
The captain opened a direct comm link to the ship, his unease growing all the time.
"Be careful soldiers. Anything could be in that base. Watch your backs, and remember that we're up here."
The tiny lander launched, enclosed in a protective phalanx of fighters.